The After Ages
by Shauna1
Summary: "Aragorn felt as though fate had set a burden down upon him, only it was not heavy and wonderful but cold and lifeless and light..."
1. Prologue: Discovery

After Ages  
by Shauna (wind3213@hotmail.com)  
  
Summary: It occurs to me that after the last ship departed from the grey havens, it wasn't just mankind that was left behind. The story of the descendants of Gondor (hey, that's us!) and the remnants of another age.  
  
Takes place in the year 2002.  
  
And despite what you make think, this isn't AU. It's merely farfetched. If you notice a contradiction from canon, please let me know!  
  
***  
  
Prologue: The Discovery  
  
***  
  
Aragorn Patterson stepped lightly through the forest behind his house, mindful as ever of even the slightest crackle of leaves and grass beneath his feet. The deer he followed was swifter and wiser than any he had seen in his fourteen years, and sometimes he had to pause to relocate the tracks. Then, with a smile at a roughly bent twig or a wink at a flattened space of grass (and to be honest he had blown a kiss at a hoofprint in the mud), he continued on.  
  
His father, who had taught him to hunt and had given him the gun he carried on the chase, treated his quirks with tender annoyance and his joy in hunting with a fond regret. Perhaps it was because the parliament was seriously considering banning guns, but there seemed always a measure of sadness on their hunting trips. Still, today Aragorn hunted alone.  
  
He had never been in this patch of forest before. They had moved into their new house only a month ago. His father seemed ever busy, and when he had asked to go out today, weapons and vests in hand, the elder man had just shaken his head. Gesturing to the guns he'd said to lock them up, there were seasons for hunting here, and this wasn't one of them.  
  
"Why did we come to this blasted place?" he'd replied, unable to dampen his accusatory tone.  
  
It was his mother who had been appointed as United States ambassador to this trivial little country, who had dragged them out here. To where the beautiful, tempting forest was closed with laws like gates. To where the citizenry obviously thought that only criminals could handle guns.   
  
*Well, then,* thought Aragorn, *I'll just have to start hunting with a bow and arrow!*  
  
Distracted, his eyes missed the unnatural rise of leaves and he tripped and sprawled over the root beneath. He went down loudly on the forest floor, and the flight of birds from the bush beside him gave him no reason to hold back a curse.   
  
"Fucking shit," he muttered, certain that the deer had sprinted away and he'd never capture it now. Still, he was nothing if not thorough, and went to make sure.  
  
When he turned past the large tree trunk in front of him he was shocked into silence. The deer had not run. It hadn't even ambled further along it's path. It stood quietly, nibbling on foliage, turning its head this way and that. Then it raised its face to look at Aragorn, its eyes full and saddened.  
  
*How can a deer be sad?* Thought Aragorn. *No, not saddened. Choco is saddened when I don't take him for a walk. Not saddened. Sorrowful.* It was such an odd and painful thing to watch that Aragorn did the first thing that came to his mind. He winked at the deer.  
  
It bounded off.  
  
*Jesus, I'm such a clutz I nearly start an avalanche in the forest and it's a wink that spooks him?* he thought, once again resuming his careful stalking.  
  
He followed for nearly half an hour, at times growing nearer to his quarry, at times falling so far behind he felt certain he had lost it. It occured to him that he wasn't going to be able to find his way back, but for that he had a flare in his pocket, and if he was lost already he might as well be lost with a good kill.  
  
He nearly tripped again, but didn't, so held back a swear. Although he didn't lessen his pace he knew with sudden certainty that he wouldn't kill this deer. So what if the family needed the food? There were stupider and far less stubborn deer closer to home.   
  
Then why was he still following?  
  
Whatever the reason was, he continued, never reaching for his gun, nor his pocket for a flare when the daylight turned to dusk and then darkness. A practised hunter for one so young, Aragorn trusted his ears as well as his eyes. He had never heard a forest so alive as this one. The leaves and branches high above seemed to rustle in purposeful song. The small forest mammals seemed to grow bolder as the insects shrunk away, and twice he had counted squirrels disrupting his stride by darting past his feet. Now the nocturnal animals were out, but the fierce cries of owls in the distance struck no fear in his heart.  
  
Aragorn sighed softly, feeling a great relaxation.  
  
#Weary are you? You will find no rest here.#  
  
Aragorn spun at the sound of the voice, which spoke in a strange language but with a familiar tone of menace.  
  
"I- I don't understand you," he said, gaping at the man whose apearance was as unnatural as his voice. He was impossibly tall and lithe, and his skin seemed to shine outwards instead of reflecting the moonlight. He was clothed in flowing browns and greens, and he had long blond hair which tightened over his ears and was bound back behind his head. "What are you saying?"  
  
"You still speak the common tongue?" the man asked. For all the tone was casual, and though this man was as foreign to Aragorn as it seemed anyone could be, he could read fear in the others eyes.  
  
"I do. Who are you?"  
  
"You have not been invited here," the other replied, purposely leaving the question unanswered. "And for long years a trespass has been punished by death. Still, you seem very young. And it has been long since anyone has wandered to us. I am loathe to be hasty."  
  
Confused, Aragorn moved to speak, but was interrupted.  
  
"Silence must avail you! The Avari will want you killed immediately. Your only hope is with the king. Quickly, now, before anyone seeks to do what I should have done."  
  
With a beckoning hunter's gesture, the strange man turned, and feeling helpless Aragorn followed him down the path.  
  
***  
  
A/N: Better a flame then silence, I always say. It might not make sense yet, but it will in just a couple of chapters. If the chapters ever make the transition from my thoughts to my monitor. That wasn't a threat, mind you, I'm not going to hold my work hostage. I've just started writing and its difficult to do prolonged work without some kind of response. Anyway, I want any criticsm, but particularly anything about writing quality or the plot. And if you want me to love you forever, you can be my beta.  
  
*** 


	2. The Unwilling City

The After Ages  
by Shauna (wind3213@hotmail.com)  
  
***  
Chapter 1: The Unwilling City  
***  
  
Aragorn followed his strange guide through the forest, becoming ever more aware of eyes gazing upon him. He had glimpsed them, twice, too alert for owls. Now he could not see them in the shadowy night, but still he knew they were there. It sent a little tremor of terror down his spine, through his heart.  
  
The man turned suddenly on his invisible course, and Aragorn followed him obediently. Despite his fear, he felt an abiding conviction that if he trusted this man no harm would come to him. If he followed, if he trusted, he would be taken away from the eyes. He would be safe, protected, guarded...  
  
The word 'guarded' twisted in his mind.  
  
As though he'd thrown a blanket off his sleeping face, he gasped in the stinging night air, the situation suddenly clear to him. He was lost, he had been captured, and now he was blithely following a man who had threatened him with his death?  
  
With all his strength he darted left, threw himself forwards, and then coming up to his feet began to run.  
  
He had gone for almost a mile, breathing harshly, barely avoiding trees, thorns scraping against his face, when he reailized there was no sound of pursuit. Stopping and resting against a tree, he thought maybe he had lost them. It didn't seem likely, there being so many. Maybe he had never seen them at all? A hallucination?  
  
He didn't feel much safer now, alone in a forest of enemies, rough bark pressing through his t-shirt against his back.   
  
"Twas not wise to run," came a voice from behind him. Aragorn turned, startled. His guide stood a few feet away, his breath coming evenly and his forehead not even sweating from the prolonged sprint. Behind him stood several dark men, smaller and rougher then the first. They were more like Aragorn then the first man although they too wore brown clothes and tied their hair in similar fashion.  
  
"You see my companions?" continued his guide. "Took much persuading for to keep them from putting their arrows in you. They like you not at all... nay, they like not your people. You, I think, may have gained some of their respect for that ill-advised but brave attempt at escape. But such as that means little to them now. They are wary. Do not test them - or me - again."  
  
Aragorn could only nod dumbly, still trying to catch his breath. Perhaps it was fatigue, but he felt at once that he should acqueisce. Fighting off the feeling, he asked, "You're in good shape, aren't you? Why didn't you stop me sooner?"  
  
"'Tis better to sap your strength, little one, for a tired captive is a more willing one," the guide replied. "Also, you ran in the right direction."  
  
Without saying anything more, his captor resumed the trail, and Aragorn followed, the three dark men falling in behind him.   
  
As they walked, Aragorn could once again feel eyes upon him, though this time he could be sure he did not imagine them. But that gave him little ease. *Are there Indians in Europe?* he asked himself, trying to resist the urge to look back at the now-revealed watchers. *Indians who fight with bows and arrows - and glow with faint light?*  
  
After several miles, the leader signaled and they paused to let Aragorn rest. He took the chance to ask, "What are you?"  
  
The dark men glared at him and didn't answer. His guide merely answered, "I will not say."  
  
"Great. Just great." Aragorn threw up his hands. "So you won't tell me what you are - or who you are - and you don't ask me either. Some kidnapping. How are we ever going to get anywhere, huh? How am I supposed to know what to do to get you to let me go?"  
  
His guide paused. "I am not sure what you mean by that. It is perhaps the language failing me - we have not had a visitor refresh our knowledge of the tongue for well over sixty years. But I will attempt to answer you as best I can. What I am is a hunter, a forester. Who am I - well, perhaps it does not matter if you know my name. I am called Throndil. We are going to my father, the King, who will decide what to do with you."  
  
Aragorn eyed Throndil warily. "What do you mean, decide what to do with me? Don't I get a say?"  
  
"The king's word is final. Beside, it is you who have trespassed on our land. You have forfeited your freedom."  
  
Aragorn began to panic. "But I didn't know this was your land! I was just following a deer!"  
  
Throndil laughed softly. "Even the hungriest of hunters does not follow a single deer so many miles, not past so many others. No, you came to do mischeif, though how you knew to do so, is beyond me. The King's judgement in the wisest. I will wait for it."  
  
Aragorn felt his stomach sink as he glanced around at the other members of the group. "What of them?" he asked.  
  
"They agree that since I found you, you shall be subject to the King. Unless you do harm to them, in which case it will be their justice you face."  
  
"Your king isn't their king, then?"  
  
Throndil paused as if considering his words. "They have no king. We are of a kind but not a kin, and though we are often together we will always be in ways apart. Had they found you, they would have killed you instantly and thought it no wrong, for you are hum- you are tresspassing. Come now," he said, standing up. "To ask so many questions you must be well rested."   
  
He whispered to the others in another language, then as one they began walking down the trail. It was not too much longer before their path opened up into a large clearing, ringed with the tallest trees. As they entered, a number of men and women came cautiously out of the shadows. Most were dark, muted men, some hastily tying up their hair. Still, Aragorn counted two or three who were blonde and tall like Throndil.  
  
"This is a city?" he whispered to him.  
  
"They like not to call it that," Throndil replied, "but in a way it is. There are no stores for merchants, nor stones of worship, but there are many homes. We all have our dwellings among the trees."  
  
Looking closer, Aragorn could make out the outline of houses around and in the trees. Around nearly each one were structures of wood and brush, leaning against the trunks. And up high the branches were woven together to make floors, with the leaves stretching themselves out and softening the bark. "How did you do that?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Thread the trees like you were making a quilt?"  
  
Throndil smiled and did not respond. Aragorn peered further into the forest, and could make out dozens of faint lights that were shut as news of their arrival passed from home to home and people left to gather in the clearing. Pretty soon only a few remained.   
  
"Throndil!" It was both spoken music and a stern command. Looking to where the word came from, he saw a beautiful and proud man. His hair was so blond it was white, and it flowed freely down his back. Then Aragorn was caught in his eyes, soft as a grandmother's, wise as a sage, and piercing besides. This, then, was the King.  
  
"Yes, father?" Throndil replied.  
  
"From where comes this mortal?" he asked. The odd choice of words stayed a moment in Aragorn's thoughts, but with a wink from the King the abberation was gone.  
  
"I found him many miles southward following the Great Deer."  
  
"The Great Deer, eh?" the King replied, then murmured something in another language. It sounded like a song. Then he switched back into English. "Why did you follow her?"  
  
"I wanted to get food for my family. Well, maybe they didn't so much need it, but I like to pretend, you know?" he admitted. "It's better then playing with dolls."  
  
"It is, is it?" The King said thoughtfully. "Continue."  
  
"Well, when we lived back home my dad and I would go hunting and we'd have it for dinner. But here we aren't allowed to hunt. I don't think we're allowed to go very far into the forest at all. But the woods- they get in you, you know? I needed to come out here. I wasn't going to shoot your Great Deer."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It'd be a waste of food, for one thing, since I couldn't bring the deer home to eat it."  
  
"Then why were you following it?" Throndil interjected, amazed that his father would accept such reasoning.  
  
"I- um, don't know. I was already lost. And it seemed to know where it was going." The others were silent. "I know, I'm crazy!"   
  
The King moved towards him, his hair rippling in perfect waves although there was no breeze. He reached a hand out to the Aragorn's cheek. His skin was warm and smooth, smoother even then the boy's. "I do not think you crazy. Nor dangerous. Let us not dispense with all pleasantries. Welcome to my home. What is your name?" asked the king gently. "Come, you have nothing to fear from me, at least."  
  
The uncertainty within him vanished, and he whispered, "Aragorn."  
  
The King's eyes widened and then snapped shut, and he stood absolutely still. Everyone else shifted and murmured, the brown men grasping at their spears, as the name spread through the crowd.   
  
Throndil and the other silver men moved towards, faces showing their wonder, and Throndil hissed, "Aragorn? How did you get that name? Surely this is an omen of some kind."  
  
Shaken and confused once more, Aragorn replied, "From the back of a family heirloom." When he spoke, the King opened his eyes again, and they burned with intensity that did not scare him as much as it should. And as he continued, he began to feel more relaxed, and his words flowed freely. "A beautiful stone has been passed down on my father's side of the family, and it is set in metal. On it is written three things, one in middle english, one in a tongue so old we can not decipher it, and the last - or first, as you may see it - is so obscure we cannot even tell the language, let alone the words. But in english, it says Aragorn. When my parents married, my mother thought it would make a good name... I had a hell of a time in elementary school. You *cannot* make a good nickname out of Aragorn."  
  
This confused most of the men, but the King only smiled. "You cannot? I will consider this. You may indeed be an omen. I will consider this as well. You, too, I sense, will have much to consider. We are a strange people, given to secrecy, and to a long waiting. It will not be easy."  
  
Aragorn could only nod. "What does my name mean to you?"  
  
The King went on as though he had not heard the question. "Come to my dwelling, where my son Throndil and I will serve you some dinner and answer your questions - but first! Where are my manners? Let me introduce myself. My name is Thranduil." 


	3. The Forgotten King

The After Ages  
by Shauna  
  
A/N A great big thank you to all who responded! I didn't even have to bribe you to review with rings of power!   
  
***  
Part 3, Chapter 2  
The Forgotten King  
***  
  
The dinner seemed too humble for a King. The chair backs were uneven, the table worn, and all was made from the same wood as the house and the tree that it rested against. Yet when Thranduil sank into his seat the setting gained a rustic elegance, as if some fantastic designer had purposefully placed him there and was amused and pleased with the contradiction.  
  
The table could fit six around it easily, and was indeed set for so many, but one space sat empty. Aragorn was given a spot across from the King, who had Throndil to one side. On the other was the unfilled chair. Next to it was a girl who looked much like Throndil, not only in the coloring but in the strong lines of her face. Next to Throndil sat one of the darker men. His face was a neutral mask.  
  
The King had something inside golden and glowing, suffusing him, dancing alone the planes of his shadowless face. His son and- was that his daughter? seemed also to shine, but weakly, as if reflecting him. The last one seemed to be not touched at all. Aragorn wished he had a mirror - how well did he himself absorb the light?  
  
Aragorn was somewhat surprised when the King performed no ritual before the meal, though the dark man murmured inaudibly and waved his hands over his plate. Throndil glanced at him with an accustomed wariness, and waited for the Avari to finish before he began to eat. Then no one spoke for a while, as they were all hungry and unwilling to lessen the pleasure with idle words.  
  
When at last everyone had finished, the King pushed his plate away, and regarded Aragorn. "My child," he said, "No doubt you see that we are in somewhat of an awkward position. For we are unlike you, in many ways which may soon be made clear, but in some ways which are obvious to you already. We are isolated from the outside world, for fear, perhaps, and for tradition - which are often the same thing. We no doubt seem strange to you."  
  
Aragorn fidgeted with his hands beneath the table. "Not so strange."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Well, you're a lot like Indians. Indians?" He glanced around the table. "In America - where I came from before we moved here - we had Natives who were there before us. We killed them and wiped them out - not me, I mean, but my ancestors. But there are some of them left. On reservations. I always felt sorry for them... they loved the woods, like I do, and they worshipped different gods, gods in the trees and the animals, and now they stay on their reservations and can't - or won't, touch the outside world."   
  
"America..." murmured Thranduil thoughtfully. "Where is that again?"  
  
"Across the ocean. The Atlantic? It's, um, west of Europe. Where we are now? The Americas are really two continents, North and South which are barely joined. But when I say America, I mean the US. Its a single country taking up a little less then half of North America."  
  
As he gestured Thranduil watched him intently and finally he said aloud, as if thinking, "The Sunlands? Has time gone so quickly?"  
  
His voice strayed high on the last word, and until he broke it off it sounded like a note of mourning. Turning in confusion to his former guide, Aragorn saw Throndil's eyes flash with pain. Then the King released a breath, and smiled, and all returned to normal.  
  
"Mayhap you wondered when I would introduce you to our companions? This is my daughter Maylin. She no doubt would speak to you if she could, but naught a word has she spoken since the last ship departed - and that has been a long while. And this is a representative of the Avari - it seemed only fair to have one with us tonight. I doubt you will get much conversation out of him, let alone his name. He does not reveal such things with ease."  
  
"Not when you do so for me," the Avari said suddenly, surprising everybody. Aragorn was surpised at his voice, which beneath its roughness was like a melody. "You overflow with talk tonight, Thranduil."  
  
"'Tis necessary. I think it is high time we told you the truth, Aragorn. Nay, we have not been deceitful, we have but omitted our painful secrets, and in order for you to decide rightly you must know both the joy and the pain."  
  
"My, my king - " Aragorn stuttered, confused. "Decide what?"  
  
Thranduil folded his arms, and then began to speak, in a style that approached a chant. "It is remembered among my people - few though they are now - the tale of Gondolin, the hidden city, where dwelt Turgon, the forgotten king. He held out, steadfast, against an enemy so evil that though he was banished ages ago his legacy remains. Turgon held against the darkness the strength of his forces, content to wait until the most desperate hour, and to neither fight nor flee while the battle was yet young."  
  
"But Thranduil - " he interrupted, then stopped at the look of surprise and annoyance that came across the others' face, all except the King himself who only nodded for him to go on. "That's just a fairy tale. How can you base your decisions on that?"  
  
"A fairy tale, is it?" said Throndil tensely. Aragorn had noticed from where he sat that the prince had grown ever uneasier as his father continued. Now he sprang immediately in defense. "He was there in the battles! When we fell and the forests were bathed in blood, when Gondolin and Beleriand were all betrayed, when the darkness seemed too much to bear, and when at last Morgoth was cast down from his evil throne, he was there! There, and fighting for Iluvatar and the light long ere you were ever born!"  
  
Aragorn could only gape while Throndil sat back angrily in his chair.   
  
"Well, now," Thranduil said into the silence. "You've quite ruined the ending of my story."  
  
Aragorn rubbed his hands over his forehead, trying to shut out the pounding that had taken over when Throndil had begun to shout. It was like there was more then words, but a will forcing itself down upon him, making his head ache and his breath come shallow.  
  
"Listen," he said, struggling to speak. The pain was evident in his voice, and immediately it lessened, but Aragorn gave no thought to that. "I'm sorry! I thank you all for what you've done for me. God knows how I would have fared tonight if you hadn't come along. And I like you quite fine - you're certainly, erhm, interesting. But all this talk about darkness and light, about armies and ages and, oh, who knows, it's beyond me. It sounds an awful lot like something out of a story."  
  
Throndil began to bristle again, but Thranduil stopped him. "Would you think any better knowing only what he does?"  
  
After a pause, Thranduil continued with his story. "My point in telling you about Gondolin was its most iron rule. That no one must be allowed to leave. Yet, even the stern Turgon let some go forth from his walls, and through his leniency a great deal of good was done, as well as a fair amount of horror. We must decide, you and I, my portentously named little guest, whether you will walk free."  
  
He paused here, as though waiting for something, but Aragorn bit back a reply.  
  
"I can see you doubt me still! Ah, well, such stubbornness has its uses. I will tale you the tale of my people."  
  
"It is told that Iluvatar created the world with his song, and also made powerful creatures called Ainur to tend it and love it even as he did. In all, he created but few of these creatures, and fewer even were those twisted to darkness, but they were there. There even before my kind rose from the earth. My kind," he said, lovingly, "has I think remained a legend on this earth. You know of us as elves, do you not?"  
  
As he said this, he pushed back his flowing hair behind his ears, and Aragorn saw that his ears came to a point. He stared, not able to believe his eyes. "That," he muttered at last, "or Vulcans." He didn't think he could take *that*.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. Yeah... I've heard of elves."  
  
"Perhaps you have, but not truly. We were the Firstborn, we elves, stronger and swifter and more beautiful then any creature, and given to us was immortality. But from the first we were also given sorrow, for darkness invaded the land as we sprang from it. The Ainur, our protectors, begged us come and live beneath their shelter. Some went, never to return. Some did return. Some never left, and some left only to settle along the path. The first are the Vanyar, the second the Noldor, the third the Avari, and the last, my people, the Sindar. There are still other groupings and divisions, but you need not know them now. The battle with darkness was long, and the best of my people gave their lives to it. It was many years before the shadow was gone."  
  
"Gone?" Aragorn asked. "What do you mean, gone?"  
  
"I mean that Sauron, the incarnation of evil, was gone. Who was the pupil of Morgoth, father of evil, who had in turn been driven from Arda. But they were fools to think that the shadow could ever be gone," he said, weighting the words as if he had pronounced them many times before. "It merely shifted. Changed, even as the ages did. That is why I stayed."  
  
"Stayed?"  
  
"The world was safe to grow and prosper, and most were weary of it. As I said, the Vanyar had already gone, and they called to their kin. The Avari were beyond hearing it, but the last of the Noldor went gratefully back to their ancient home. And most - aye, nearly all of the Sindar followed. My elder son Legolas, grieving for dear companions and the death of King Ar- Elessar, cared not for my reasoning. He sang only of sea gulls."  
  
To Aragorn in seemed his tone grew bitter for the first time in the tale, and he winced at the malice reserved for the poor birds. When after a moment Thranduil resumed, his voice was again kind. "So it was for many, all except my second wife. She was not my wife then, nor had I any thought for her to be. For she was not of noble birth, nor even Sindarin, but Silvan... aye, I will not go into such details as those. But her love for me gave her the strength to resist the calling, and she stayed and bore me a daughter and a son. And we lived, and still live, among the Avari. They accepted us as kin, but treat us not as sisters and brothers, though they have had many years to learn to love us so. And we wait, for what, we know not. We wait, and the power of men waxes. We wait, and wait yet longer. Sometimes I regret my decisions, but their can be no turning back."  
  
"Just as I cannot go back?" said Aragorn forlornly, his voice heavy with dread and fatigue. He felt the weight of the King's sorrow upon his own back.  
  
"Oh, child, this is heavy and unusual talk!" The King exclaimed. "I did not mean you had to make your choice now. And I have kept you far too late. Throndil, take him to where he may rest."  
  
With that the King rose and left the room, weary but still graceful, and when he was gone the room seemed somehow shadowed. Stumbling a little, Aragorn leaned gratefully on Throndil's arm, and was guided by him once more. 


	4. Dreaming and Deceiving

The After Ages  
by Shauna (wind3213@hotmail.com)  
  
A/N For those who asked, Aragorn is fourteen years old as the story begins. This chapter is rather short, almost an interlude, but I probably will be too busy working the next couple of days to post another so I thought I'd at least give you guys this. To forewarn you, though, I was struggling to come up for a way to make 'Eldar' an adjective and settled on Eldaren. It's probably wrong, but you forgive me, don't you? Also, I had to start naming the Avari, and as I've never heard an Avari name I went with my gut instinct that it wouldn't sound much like the other elven names we were given.   
  
***  
Part Four, Chapter Three  
Dreaming and Deceiving  
***  
  
/  
  
He was following a deer through what had once been a field, clutching the hilt of a long, thin blade. The deer left no footsteps on the path, and was easily sighted, but still he bent down to the earth and scoured it for tracks. He brushed his fingers over the hard dirt, then jerked them back. They burned where he had touched the ground.  
  
When he looked up again, the deer stood waiting for him. Their eyes met. It began to move, and he started to stalk it again. As he walked, he felt his feet growing warmer. He sped up, trying to keep the bottoms from staying down too long, but the deer did not increase its pace, and soon he was almost directly behind it.   
  
'Aaahh,' he moaned as the heat became too much to bear quietly, but the deer was unspooked, and even turned back to look at him pityingly. 'Aaaaahhhh.'  
  
Rolling his head back, he continued moaning, his eyes searching the sky for help, but he saw nothing, not even the sun he had assumed was heating the ground. Above the dirt the sky faded from clear to a deep blueblack. No clouds, no moon or sun, only stars.  
  
Sluggishly turning his attention back to the path before his burning feet, he realized the deer had stopped and he had come up beside him. Before them lay an endless tract of bare desert, empty but for small tufts of dead grass. And then - he saw ahead of him his father's gemstone. He ran for it, heedless of the pain where the soles had melted off his shoes and clung to ground and flesh, scooping the familiar heirloom up into his palm, and was consumed by fire. The last thing he felt was a brush of soft fur and muscle as the deer tried to knock him away...  
  
/  
  
  
He awoke to voices outside his room. He stayed motionless upon his bed, torn between wanting to rescue the fragments of his dream and needing to hear what was being said. The room was stifling hot.  
  
When he heard his name, though, he decided to listen.   
  
"We will not be endangered!" hissed the voice of the Avari representative from dinner. "Tonight and tomorow night is all we can give him to make the oath, or else we will be forced to end his life."  
  
"He's but a boy, he cannot hurt you!" the other elf outside, Throndil, protested.  
  
"We will not take that risk."  
  
"That's cruel, Tsttay, it isn't Elven!"  
  
Tsttay laughed mockingly. "It might not be Eldaren, but the Avari must listen to the forest. It tells us to be ware the sneaking stranger."  
  
"It isn't Elven!" Throndil repeated.  
  
"You seek to define us, Prince?" Tsttay replied, and spat out the honorary. "When will you fool Eldar realize we care not for what you think? We-"  
  
"That isn't what I-"  
  
"Silence!" Tsttay shouted. "When I speak I will be heard! You think because some spectre of your legends has come to you from the past, this makes you greater then the Avari? You think because you have more grace and beauty, this makes you greater then the Avari? We have never cared for ghosts, nature nourishes us from day to day without the decaying past. We have never cared to have your beauty - we want only the beauty of the stars. Valar!" He laughed. "You worship half-gods and long for them still, though you cling to this land and profess to love it. You Eldar who walked so proud among our forests, have fallen to us, and to the dwarves, and most of all to the men."  
  
It seemed to Aragorn in his bed that the moments dragged on without an answer from Throndil.  
  
"Do you deny this?" Tsttay said at last. "Can you?"  
  
Throndil remained silent.  
  
"Good. We let you stay with us because you were our kin. Do not prove us wrong." Aragorn could barely make out the sound of Tsttay's movement in the hallway as he left.  
  
The door rattled sharply and suddenly as Throndil emitted a curse, and then another softly in a different language when he remembered that this was Aragorn's room. The boy shut his eyes quickly as the elf peered in. "Are you awake, Aragorn?" Throndil whispered.  
  
Aragorn did not know how long Throndil could stand there gazing on him, only felt that he did. He could just tell where he looked from the involuntary shiver of his skin as Throndil's gaze traveled along the curves of his blanket and over his face. He tried to feign sleep. Breaths neither shallow nor too deep, muscles unclenched, try not to blink... soon enough, the real thing claimed him, but he never knew when Throndil left. 


	5. From Morning Straight to Dusk

The After Ages  
by Shauna (wind3213@hotmail.com)  
  
***  
Part 5, Chapter 4  
From Morning Straight to Dusk  
***  
  
  
Aragorn got up in the morning not feeling particularily refreshed but determined to clear his mind by force of will. Walking quietly outdoors, he looked around, and was better able to see the village now with sunlight.  
  
He could now discern houses built onto or into trees as far back as one could see, although some were mere shacks and others were large and sweeping and spread over several trees. For all the people - elves! Aragorn reminded himself - that walked on the center green, the grass was not flattened or even bent. Small, swaying flowers rose up where the grass was particularily thick.   
  
Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the scene on the insides of his eyelids, tried to recall every detail. It was a slow process, but he did it calmly, as his father had taught him to. Meditation cleared your mind, made it easier to become part of the forest, and therefore easier to hunt. Meditation - peace - was what he needed in this unbelievable place.  
  
Worries insistently tried to worm their way inside his head as he continued, remembering beam by beam the walls of the house nearest him. What had the argument been about? Were his parents upset that he was gone? What had been the meaning of his now half forgotten dream?  
  
He brushed the thoughts away like they were flies or gnats, thankful that they didn't seem to have any physical equals in this part of the woods. Vines, there were vines drooping down from the house like ladders, like swings, just barely touching the ground.  
  
Along the uniformly sweet grass, past clumps of flowers but never weeds. It was a path of growth instead of worn dirt and petals crushed beneath feet. To the next house, smaller, barely a room. Set high in the trees. Spare but sturdy, and opening up to the night... Aragorn struggled to remember any more of the next house, but admitting defeat, opened his eyes.  
  
To his surprise, he found Throndil staring at him with a look that wandered somewhere between approbation and amusement. It was an odd look, one that he might have pursued further, but Aragorn broke it to watch the two smaller forms beside him.  
  
One was easily identifiable as Maylin, the other was a girl- an elf! - an Avari. She leaned close to Maylin, whispering in her ear. Then the three elves walked towards him in unison.  
  
"I would like you to meet Ctctey," Throndil said as they approached. "She is a dear friend of my sister's. I have asked the two of them to keep you company while my father and I meet with the Avari." Without elaborating, Throndil walked off. Aragorn watched his retreating back. For all their alleged long years of living, he was finding elves rather abrupt.  
  
"Hello," said Ctctey, and he turned to her. "How is it said? Have you slept well?"  
  
"I slept fine," Aragorn replied, although his tongue stuck a little on the lie. "How about you?"  
  
She laughed, almost patronizingly. "We Avari don't sleep. We dream waking."  
  
Aragorn could only answer "oh". Then, trying to make small talk, "So how do you pronounce your name?"  
  
"You do not speak it with your mouth, but with your throat," she demonstrated several times, making little clicking noises. Aragorn tried to imitate her, but soon Ctctey was getting tired of shaking her head 'no'. Finally, she said, "When you want my attention, just cough. It is the closest you will get. Now. Maylin wants you to come with us."  
  
"How do you know?" he asked curiously. He had assumed she was dumb and mute, the possibility of sign language had never occured to him. And yet, she didn't really seem to move her hands that much.  
  
"I simply do. We have been together so many years that I have learned to read her face. And..." she hesitated as though she wasn't sure whether or not she should speak, but finished anyway, "I can touch her mind."   
  
"Can you now?" Aragorn tried to sound skeptical, but in honesty he was beginning to think nothing could surprise him anymore.  
  
"Not words, but feelings. Not thoughts, but emotions..." a tender smile came upon her face.  
  
"You're a lot more, um, talkative and - well, friendly then the other Avari."  
  
"I have been close to Maylin for as long as I can remember. How can I distrust her family? Or her friends? I think we all misunderstand eachother, Avari and Eldar, Elf and human."  
  
He had been talking only to Ctctey, and didn't want to be rude, especially not to Throndil's sister. Silently he appraised her, making sure to keep a welcoming smile on his face. At first glance, she seemed only sturdy, light and clean, but the more you looked the deeper her eyes appeared to be, drawing you farther and father into their blue depths. For a moment Aragorn felt like he was drowning.   
  
Still, when he spoke again it was to Ctctey. "Where does she want us to go?"  
  
"She wants you to see again a special friends of ours, who will deign to meet us in a little clearing a ways from here. And she - we - would like you to tell us about your world as we walk there. Then, in return of the favor, we will tell you about our world as we walk back."   
  
The two girls started off even before she had finished speaking, certain he would follow. He stood their a moment, then shrugged and did.  
  
***  
  
As they walked he told them about the world as he had known it. Three-hour car rides to minor league baseball games. Friday night coffee houses and high school dances. Studying for tests and hanging the weight of the world on the grade you got back. The wars that had come and gone in his life time, and before it. Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Garbage piled high into disgusting mountains. The even even more grotesque piles of shoes outside mass graves. He felt compelled to tell them this, and even as he explained the Holocaust with projected calm their faces filled with pain. Eventually his voice grew ragged and he turned to safer topics. Things that they shared.   
  
Walks in the woods. Nights watching the stars. Racing thunderstorms. Maylin giggled at the phrase 'running between raindrops' and he almost asked her whether or not she could do it.   
  
The talk was beginning to turn personal as they neared the little clearing. Maylin listened to him explain his mother's job with glowing eyes, and he searched around for more details to please her, but then Ctctey raised a hand to quiet them.   
  
"We are here," was all she whispered.  
  
Brushing aside some tall grasses, she stepped into a small clearing, and after a moment Aragorn and then Maylin did as well. There, nibbling at the weeds in a beautiful garden, was the deer Aragorn had followed, and who had appeared last night in his dreams.  
  
"Goldberry, Goldberry," Ctctey sang softly, and Aragorn looked at her, surprised, for he thought they called it the Great Deer. But that had been Throndil and Thranduil, perhaps the Avari knew it by another name. The deer raised it's head, almost swaying to the tune. "Goldberry, Goldberry daughter of the forest, why stay you now where the trees whither sorest? Goldberry, Goldberry mother of flowers, to succor the broken is use of your powers."  
  
Barely louder than breathing, Aragorn murmured, "Is Goldberry her name?" But the deer seemed to hear and bounded off.  
  
Seeing Aragorn's blush of disapointment, Ctctey explained, "She only likes singing. You were probably singing when she found you in the forest."  
  
"I don't sing!" Aragorn protested. "It's a horrible habit to have while you hunt. I broke it a long time ago." Still, he wasn't certain.  
  
"Don't worry overmuch. I could tell she likes you. But come, now, cheer up, and I'll keep my half of our bargain. What would you like to know about my world?"  
  
Pushing his regret aside, Aragorn thought for a moment. "Well, how isolated are you?"  
  
"We get visitors every once in a while," Ctctey said as they began the return. "The last time was sixty years ago. A tired, hungry man was found, staggering along the forests with a gun in his hand even as you had. He was in considerably worse shape then you, however. He got better for a little while, for six months, but then he sickened again and died."   
  
"And how long ago was this? Throndil mentioned sixty years ago, but that can't be right, because you said you saw him-"  
  
"Throndil spoke truly. We are all aged beyond the years we show."  
  
They came to a worn rock jutting out from the earth, up to his waist and nearly twice as far lengthwise. Maylin stopped and climbed gracefully on it, motioning for the others to do the same.  
  
While they had been walking, Aragorn had spoken as though he were just with Ctctey but now the three of them sat facing one another. And he saw that Maylin did indeed speak with her eyes and with slight gestures of her hands.  
  
The way she rubbed the soft skin of her palm against the stone was 'Isn't it wonderful to rest together on this rock?'  
  
The way her gaze travelled over him, stopping again and again at the corners of his t-shirts, the laces of his shoes, and the scarred corner of his mouth-- that said, 'I find you fascinating. Continue - continue!'  
  
The way her face turned ever towards the forest he'd come stumbling out of meant 'I am eager', even if her expression was always that of peculiar sorrow.  
  
Watching her, he saw that she felt deeply but kept silent.  
  
... "There you are!" Aragorn gave a gasp of loss at the cry. Even as the sound of Throndil's voice rang out from a ways behind them, he realized they had shared something without words. The silent, subtle communication of Maylin's eyes made even Throndil's 0 baritone words seem rough and childish.  
  
"I have been looking for you for some time," Throndil explained as he walked up to them. "The council wishes to hear your story before the hour grows too late."  
  
Aragorn looked to the sky in confusion, and saw that the sun had travelled far. Ctctey took his hand and whispered, "These moments you have experienced as elves do, for we devote hours to a single feeling, and consider it not a waste. Perhaps some day you will repay us, and let us feel your urgency."  
  
"As it is," Throndil interjected, "there is some urgency needed here. The council is patient, but it is never wise to dwadle."  
  
"Go on ahead," Ctctey said to them. "We will not be wanted."  
  
So Aragorn again followed Throndil, who every few moments turned to make sure he followed. "How is the meeting going?" Aragorn ventured at last. "It's about me, isn't it?"  
  
Throndil sighed deeply. "It is. I requested you be informed, so you'd have time to prepate your arguments, but they refused. So I cannot tell you more then to say that the Avari have decided not to let the matter stand solely with my father."  
  
Aragorn shivered at that. "And how is it going?"  
  
"Not so well. They are at a standstill. They've reached their limits and can venture no further."  
  
"What are their limits?"  
  
But Throndil only looked at him regretfully and would not answer.  
  
"Tell me, Aragorn, when will someone come looking for you?"  
  
"Well, I snuck off to go hunting when they went out, so maybe my parents didn't really I was gone until this morning. Then, they won't be able to do anything about it besides maybe search the woods near the house. That is, for a day. When a day is up they can have the police search the woods, and they'll do it better," Aragorn squinted up at the sky through the trees. "Although I don't think their helicopters will do much good."  
  
"Helicopters?"  
  
"They're flying machines," he said, half-expecting the elf to gasp in surprise.  
  
"I see," was all he said, with cool ease. Then he gave a short bark of laughter and added, "You did not build them, Aragorn. You should not take so much pride."  
  
Chagrined, Aragorn muttered, "Well, you didn't know about Indians or America or anything."  
  
"Think you that I've never seen a man fly? A machine," he waved his hands in an inexact gesture, "should be easy enough."  
  
"Into outer space?" Aragorn challenged.  
  
Throndil gave a teasing sigh of exasperation, but Aragorn could tell his interest was piqued. "You have been to outer space?" There was a note of longing in his voice.  
  
"Not personally," Aragorn replied. "But plenty of people have. Landed on the moon."  
  
"Now I know you lie. You cannot walk upon the moon."  
  
"Can't walk upon the moon?" Aragorn exclaimed. "Of course you can. They videotaped it!"  
  
"What is videotape?" Throndil asked.  
  
"Never mind that. What do you mean you can't walk on the moon?"  
  
Throndil laughed. "It is simply not to be walked upon. It is a glowing silver flower, Rana or Isil the Sheen by my estranged kin. And it is guided across the sky in a great vessel, manned by the Maia Tilion, who chases after Arien his love."  
  
"No. No! You've got it wrong. It's just a big, dead rock."  
  
"Then maybe," Throndil said sadly, all laughter gone from his face, "the Ainur have forsaken even them."  
  
They walked along in silence until they reached one of the tree-houses. Throndil drew open the door and gestured him inside, saying "We are come."  
  
*** 


	6. Confrontation

The After Ages  
by Shauna  
  
***  
  
Part Six, Chapter Five  
Confrontation  
  
A/M Sorry this is a bit short. Thanks to all the reviewers! Please check out my other stuff, which are barely getting responded to. Y'all are the best.  
  
***  
  
As he entered the room, Throndil followed behind him, a protective hand on his shoulder. There was a subtle shade of menace in the eyes of all the Avari, and an air of twisted justice hung about the room. Thranduil looked tired but determined.  
  
One of the dark elves, sitting towards the side, looked him firmly in the eye, and in his gaze was some small sense of compassion.  
  
When Tsttay, at the head of the table, spoke, his voice was harsh and demanding. "You are Aragorn? Son of?"  
  
"Aragorn son of Jonathan," he answered. "Aragorn Patterson."  
  
The elves looked confused. "Patter's son? I thought you were the son of Jonathan."  
  
"Jonathan Patterson."  
  
"Do not play games with us!" Tsttay growled.  
  
"I'm not! We all have the same last name. My mother and father, my father's parents, my grandfather's parents... the name gets passed down. But my dad's first name is Jonathan. So. Jonathan Patterson, Aragorn Patterson. Get it?"  
  
Tsttay tried to regain his composure. "An awkward system, to say the least. Aragorn Patterson son ofJonathan Patterson, do you know the decision laid before you?"  
  
"Well... no."  
  
Tsttay slowly stood. His bearing was as regal as Thranduil's, if in a different, darker way.  
  
"Once you intruded into our forest, you should have been killed. No one must know of our dwelling here. Even before the humans, with their destruction and useless rage, came forth upon this earth, we sought to be undisturbed and in secret. Nevertheless, we seek to do you no unnecessary harm."  
  
Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief at this. Tsttay continued. "However, we must keep our land hidden. There must be no risk of discovery - no risk of your betrayal. Therefore, you will take an oath swearing on Iluvatar that you will not leave our valley, on pain of the lives of your guardians here, or else you will be killed."  
  
"That's not a choice at all!" cried Aragorn. Throndil and Thranduil were glaring at the other elves.  
  
"It is the only choice you have," said Tsttay calmly.  
  
"Assarda ar arringa nar i Avari, i more Quendi!" Throndil cried, and Thranduil's eyes widened, but the Avari like Aragorn did not understand the words.  
  
"Speak not in your High hidden language," Tsttay commanded him. "We will have no secrets here. Now, what is your choice?"  
  
Aragorn felt overwhelmed. Sinking to his knees, nearly begging, he asked, "What about my parents? They'll worry about me - "  
  
"Think you we do not worry when our elves are lost?"  
  
"But they'll come after me. They'll bring the police here, to search for me."  
  
"Do you threaten us?"  
  
"No! I'm just stating the truth. My mother is an ambassador in this country, she'll get the whole guard to come out looking for me. They have heat-sensors and search dogs and..." Aragorn faltered.  
  
"He speaks justly," Thranduil said. "We do not just harm him by keeping him here, we harm ourselves."  
  
"What would you have us do?" asked Tsttay. "He cannot be free."  
  
"It seems," said the Avari from the corner who had looked kindly on Aragorn before, "that we are again at the same issue. It is wrong to force him to stay, yet it is wrong to let him leave."  
  
"Do you see another choice, Rvarry?"  
  
"... no."  
  
Thranduil rose, looking troubled. "I ask for at least one more day of council. It may be that we are overlooking something in our haste. It may be that this can be avoided, and a single day will not endanger us so much."  
  
"Yes," Throndil said, supporting his father, "Aragorn has told us that these 'police' by their laws cannot come for him until tomorow. By then, we can decide."  
  
Tsttay looked as though he would object, but Rvarry said, "It will be so. It takes but one member to delay the decision of the council."  
  
Some of the other elves looked as though they might protest, but Rvarry spoke truly and Tsttay was forced to submit. Standing up, he said, "It ends. We will meet again tomorow."  
  
***  
  
They filed out of the room slowly, Aragorn and the Eldar going first. Thranduil immediately excused himself to go think upon the problem, his voice trouble and his gaze weary. Throndil took him by the hand and led him away from the Avari going past him, who deigned not to look at him. Only Rvarry gave him a grave nod.  
  
"Who is that?" Aragorn asked Throndil.  
  
"That is Rvarry, Ctctey's father. He is known for his caution - and his kindness."  
  
Aragorn sat, wrapped in his thoughts, while Throndil watched the other elves walk off to their tree homes, to think and worry in the deepening darkness.  
  
"What is to be done?" Aragorn said at length, trying to sound mature, but he was trembling.  
  
"I don't know," replied Throndil. "But my father and I will get you out of this. Somehow."  
  
"On pain - pain of death?"  
  
Throndil regarded him with sad eyes. "I would that I had died long ago, and could have dwelt in the Blessed Realm if only in the Halls of Mandos."  
  
"Throndil, how can you say that?"  
  
"I have as long as I can remember wanted to go to the Undying Lands, now gone beyond the void, beyond my reach. I built my tree home so it opened up to the night, to the stars, and thought perhaps the Starkindler would look down upon me. But my father stays here, and so must I. It causes such disharmony in my soul..." his voice trailed off.  
  
"Why must you stay with your father?"  
  
"When my brother Legolas left, he nearly died of grief. Though I was not born until after, I see the scars left by his departure - Legolas - " Throndil's voice cracked. "Legolas, I would condemn thee if I could! But I would have done as you did."  
  
"But surely he wouldn't ask you to sacrifice yourself for him," Aragorn said.  
  
Throndil sighed softly and turned to Aragorn. "I love my father greatly, in a way that passes your understanding. For the loves of men are brief and therefore filled with passion - how can I put it? They are like flowers, which bloom but for a single season, and when the petals are ripped by a windstorm or a child's hasty hand, it is all the more painful for life's brevity. What right has anyone to take from a plant it's only flower? And it is gone, beyond forgiveness or regret. Now the love of an elf is like a tree, with roots that spread and deepen over the years. So many have I lived with my father, that I am dug into him as deep as the eldest oak into the earth, and might not ever live without him. For how do trunk and branches fare alone? They whither, they mourn... they die. Do you understand me?"  
  
Aragorn could only nod.  
  
"Yes... I believe you do. And so you see that, though he does not see it, he has condemned me with my love, even as he freed my brother? And he never meant to - so it is all the more painful. It was but a chance of time, for us to be born the last of the Sindar, the last of the Eldar elves..."   
  
"Us?"  
  
"Maylin and I, though her mind I do not know. Perhaps she is content here."  
  
They sat a while longer in silence, then Throndil spoke, not to Aragorn but to the stars.  
  
"Earendil," he said, "and all the fiery children of Elbereth. Will you not guide me?" A single tear, nearly hidden in shadows, ran down his face, and he began to chant,  
  
"Unwilling were the Avari,  
weaker and less graceful  
but they are elves and never die  
they remain to arda faithful."  
  
"Throndil?" Aragorn asked tentatively.  
  
He spoke softly but firmly, as if in his mind some great decision had been made. "I owe no loyalty to this land, and neither does my father. Nor to your race. Ironic, is it not? Yet we stayed for a purpose, and I would see that purpose played out. You are part of that purpose, I am certain. As my brother helped guide King Aragorn to his throne, I will bring you back to your people."  
  
"King... Aragorn?"  
  
"I was ordered not to tell you, but many commands must I betray this night. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, elf-friend and the first and greatest king of this age. For him you are named, by chance or by fate. Now come, I am going to take you home."  
  
***  
  
Translation:  
  
Hardest and coldest are the Avari, the black elves.  
  
Note: That is Quenya being spoken. I chose it because according to my theory, after so many years together the Eldar would know the Avari's language and the Avari would know Throndil, Thranduil and Maylin's Sindarin. So Quenya would be the only option for Throndil if he wanted to keep his words secret. Also, I actually know some Quenya, so it wasn't like if I used Sindarin and would just be taking random words from dictionaries.  
  
2nd Note: For the Eldar, especially those who spoke Quenya, consonant clusters were deliberately avoided. Therefore I've tried to do the opposite for names of the Avari.  
  
*** 


	7. Home?

This chapter has been ready for practically a week. But my computer apparently doesn't like posting to this story. Just this one. Not any of my others. I hate my computer. So I'm using the work computer and don't know how often I'll get to update this. Anyway, enjoy what you can get.  
  
***   
After Ages Part 7, Chapter 6   
Home?   
***   
  
For all the fierce words, all the talk of death and oaths kept forever, it was remarkably easy getting home. Had the elves' long years bred complacency or just trust? Aragorn didn't know. He kept an eye on Throndil's pale form, ducking beneath branches and following nearly soundless over roots and leaves. It would have been impossible to remember the route, even had he wanted to betray his friend like that. As it was, the stars gave him just enough light not to fall. In fact, they seemed to be growing more dim as they went.   
  
They had walked for nearly an hour when Throndil surprised him by speaking. "So, how long do humans live now?"   
  
Aragorn realized he was trying to make small talk. "Oh, um, around eighty years."   
  
"And you are?"   
  
"Fourteen. Fifteen next month."   
  
Though he couldn't really see, Aragorn got the impression that Throndil was nodding. "You're young. I thought so, but of course I could not be sure. You're so accepting, so filled with possibilites and hope - but then again, that is a trait of all your species."   
  
Aragorn didn't know how to answer that. It sounded like something his grandparents might have said - except for the last part.   
  
"What will you do when you get back?" Throndil asked, keeping his voice neutral and low.   
  
"I don't know. Go to school. Relax, read, hunt. Watch the sky. Eventually go to college. I'm thinking maybe I'll become a Ranger."   
  
The sudden sharp sound of crunching leaves told him Throndil had faltered in his step. "What?"   
  
"A forest Ranger. Maybe even in a national park." Aragorn paused a moment, then continued. "I thought before I might be an explorer, but there's not much left to explore. Although, maybe I could find some more elves." He tried not to let the excitement show in his voice.   
  
"Maybe Avari," Throndil said without emotion. "But not Eldar. Not... elves."   
  
They continued on in silence, content to let eachother pursue their own thoughts, though they wove about the same thing. Throndil kept an even pace, never slowing in fear or reluctance, determined. The darkness had almost begun to lift again when the elf halted.   
  
"Why did we stop?" Aragorn asked.   
  
"We are near the edge of the woods. You cannot see it, but the faint light that breaks through the trees in the distance comes not from above but from the side."   
  
Looking closer, Aragorn recognized the place. "Sharp eyes," he said simply.   
  
Throndil turned to him. "I am glad that you came, whatever strife you brought with you," he said solemnly.   
  
"I - I'm - " Aragorn didn't know what to say, so on impulse he hugged the elf. It was awkward at first, and it occured to Aragorn that Throndil might never have hugged a person before. At that thought, sadness came over him, choking him, until he was almost crying against the smooth fabric of Throndil's shirt. Throndil held him, firmly and briefly, then pulled away, brushing his hand across Aragorn's cheek. He looked at his finger, at the remnant of a tear that lay upon it.   
  
"Throndil - " Aragorn tried to say, but the elf was gone, evaporating, even as his tear must have, into the night.   
  
***   
  
Walking the last mile in the chill darkness, for the first time in Aragorn's life he felt truly alone. He had always kept to himself, and his classmates respected that he'd rather be in the forests or in the library or in his room, on his bed, thinking and dreaming, but now. Now everything seemed different.   
  
He wouldn't be happy. He hadn't made any friends yet, and he wouldn't get any once he was grounded. Not that he was sure he wanted them. Wanted anything besides to turn around and -   
  
"Musn't think that," he said to himself, and walked faster.   
  
Why hadn't he thought of that when he was begging to leave the elven city? Why hadn't he seen beyond his parents worried eyes? If he had thought about it, he would have admitted he wanted to stay, and speak again with Ctctey and Maylin, and walk in the forests with Goldberry, and Throndil and Thranduil and -   
  
"Musn't think that!" He said louder. Regret was useless now. Best to remember why he was coming back, to imagine the joy on his father's face when he returned safe...   
  
He was coming up upon the house. He heard his mother's sharp voice cutting through the night air. "Listen to me. I don't care what your damned rules are! I'm not asking you for the national guard! I know where my son went, he's in the woods somewhere - "   
  
"Mom!" he called out, opening the front door. "Dad? I'm... home."   
  
***   
  
An hour later, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was deaf to the remonstrations that still rang about his room. His face was curiously blank, his eyes unfocused and rather looking inward - he pondered the painful thumping of his chest with detachment.   
  
It was already fading against the plaster and plastic. It was a dream or a memory, both as remote as the night before. And he was sorry for whatever it was he had condemned Throndil and Thranduil to, because this house and this country weren't a place worth returning to, even if they had not had to give their lives. And then sorry again for thinking that! Wasn't it enough to ease the haggard, haunted look on his father's face, and stop his mother's trembling chin?   
  
He felt... as though fate had set a burden down upon him, only it was not heavy and wonderful but cold and lifeless and light. He rolled over on his mattress and tried to forget.   
  
*** 


End file.
